Bobby's Certifacrit
by KilianaFelagund
Summary: Pre-series. Weechesters. "Uncle Bobby? Why arn you our real uncle?" Sammy asked kicking his feet back and forth under the table and into my legs. "Cause I aint you Daddy's brother." - Well. what are the boys possibly going to do about that? Sam is six. Dean is ten. Bobby and John still get along. No tags this time. Deans POV.


I got this idea this morning and just couldn't shake it! I wrote it kinda fast but I really like how it turned out.

I promise I am updating "Sam's Brother" tomorrow. It is a nice long chapter for every one of you my patient followers! I read it to my friend and she got a kick out of it, so hopefully you all will too.

So, a note about this story. I have actually never written a first person, present tense story before. It was interesting and enjoyable. I hope you like it, lovies.

~Kiliana

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><p>"Wassa Certifispit, Dean?" My most annoying little brother blurted out as he hoisted himself up on the bed beside me. Granted he is my only little brother, but, seriously – I wish they had been made with an off button.<p>

"A certify_what?" _I didn't bother looking up. I could see him well enough in my mind. Floppy hair, puppy dog eyes. No thank you, not looking.

"A certifispit! My teacher said they's whacha get when you are ficially sompthin. She gots a certifispit of teachin' so she can ficially teach." He explained. Oh I got it.

"No Sammy." I said in my best big brother voice. After all, I'm in fifth grade already! "It's not a certifispit, it is a certifacrit!"

"Certifirit?"

"No. Cer-tifa-crit."

"Oh. Do you gots any?" He badgered.

"hu-uh! But you do."

"REALLY!" and his eyes got really big. Like half-moons made out of chocolate – I didn't even have to be looking at him to know that.

"Yep. You got a certifacrit of annoying-little-brat-brotherness." I retorted and flipped the page. Yes! Go batman, catch that joker but don't fall for his stupid trap.

"D_eeean_!" he annoying little brother whined. "No I hasn't. You made that up."

"So what if I did, you _are _a brat." I say finally shutting the book with an annoyed huff because really, who can read with a little birdy chipping away in their ears.

"Dats mean. Daddy'll get you in trouble."

"Yeah right, cause Daddy don't know." There are some downsides to being the older. One of them being Daddy has a habit of siding with the baby and giving me lectures one being nice. I am being nice, but he _never _leaves me alone!

"I'll tell on you." Sammy sniffles, scooting off the bed and inching towards the door.

"You _are _a brat, tattletale!" I guess I wasn't really being that nice but annoying him and then calling him a brat. But why does he always tattle. I really do like the kid, it's my job to keep him safe. But we are at _Bobby's. _It's not like there are any monsters gonna get past him and Dad anyway. So maybe he could let me read for an hour. Is that too much to ask?

"Com'ere Sammy." I say softening my tone. "Why did you want to know what a certifacrit is anyway?" I settle back and lift my arm invitingly. Sammy is curled against me in seconds. It's really nice. Although because of standers I Do put him in a headlock and ruffle his mop for a second while he wriggles. I guess I didn't mean anything I said to him earlier. I was kinda mad that Bobby had made oatmeal. I HATE oatmeal!

Sammy settles 'comferabally' against my side after I finish torturing him and puts on his thinking face that looks really funny on a first grader.

"Well. Member what Uncle Bobby said at dinner last night?" He starts. This cant be good if it starts the same way half of Uncle Bobby's books do. _There is a great big problem in the universe. Remember the big bang? Now read this long boring book about gas and write a eight thousand page report and pretend like it affects our life and yada yada yada. _

"Sure, Sammy." I answer, because it is true.

**(the night before)**

"**Uncle Bobby? Why arn you our real uncle?" Sammy asked kicking his feet back and forth under the table and into my legs. **

"**Cause I aint you Daddy's brother." Bobby replied fondly despite the gruffness. He absolutely loves it when we called him uncle. I normally don't cause I'm too old for child's play anymore. I am a hunter.**

"**Like Dean?" Sammy said around his corncob.**

"**Yep. Like Dean's yer brother."**

**Sammy looked thoughtful. "But you act like our uncle." He said confused.**

"**Well, I'ma unofficial uncle." He replied and winked. **

(Back to the here and now)

"I wanna make Uncle Bobby a ficial uncle. So I wanna give'm a certifacrit." Sammy beams like a Christmas tree.

I look at him awkwardly. "How?"

"You's gonna make the certifacrit and we's gonna sign it." He nuzzles against me and slipped his arms around my waist adding a "please, Dean?" for good measure.

Absolutely Sam. I'll do _anything _for a request like that. But all I really say is "Fine."

About half way through the certifiacrit making (and it looked really o-ficial to me) Sammy – lying on his tummy with his face propped up on his fists and his thumb stuck in his mouth ("stop that. Only babies suck their thumbs.") – looks at me and starts spouting ideas again like normal.

"What makes _real _certifacrits real?"

"Um, the words and the paper." I reply. Of course he doesn't look like he believes me. "But. I wanna it to be real!"

"It _is _real. It would need our Seal." I reply. Sammy looks horrified.

"But _dean_!" he sobs and you would have though his puppy just died. (not that he had one – but that was the effect) "I don't _have _a seal. And teacher says they live in Anctartika!" the thunder shower stops as fast as it started and before I can say a word – "Who would want a Seal? Cause you needs seal blubber? And why would _anyone _wants seal blubber on a certifacrit?"

"Don't be stupid, Sammy. A seal is like a big important stamp that you stick in wax to prove it's really you." I explain, again as usual.

"Oh."

"Kings had seals that that proved they was kings over their kingdoms." I go on. I really do know a lot about history. I read all the history book at school, but didn't tell Daddy. Last time I got a good score in school I got in trouble. I forgot why. But Daddy was mad cause the teacher called him and said I was lazy. So I play dumb a lot. It is kinda fun to know things no one else knows.

"Can we make Bobby a seal?" Sam asks.

"No." I reply looking up sharply. "We would need mettle and a way to shape it into a seal."

"You could make it out of wood." He suggests. "Like you made my wooden dog for my birthday."

"I could whittle one? That would be hard!"

"But could you?" and he has those l pleading dean-can't-tell-me-no eyes turned on high.

"I _cooouuuld_!" and I basically seal (every pun imaginable intended) my fate right then. "What would he need a seal for anyway."

"A seal of uncleship over this uncledom." Sam replies. "It's gotta be a piture of you and me and Bobby all together. Cause he is our uncle." He continues. I roll my eyes because only Sammy would take 'I could" and make it say. "of course I will Sammy because I am you big brother and I am awesome" which, I am, so of course I'll make it.

Sammy screws up his face again. "You'll haffa make us holdin' hands."

"No. Way." I retort. "Aint no way I'm holding yer hand or Bobby's even in a picture."

"Fine." Sam retorts and goes back to reading his Dr. Seuss book.

I finish the certifacrit pretty quickly using Sammy's art pad and markers from his class. It looks really ficial and even has the impala drawn in the corner (that's my seal).

Making the seal though. That aint gonna be easy. First I'm gonna haffa draw the seal idea on the end of a smooth stick (I got tuns of sand paper) and then I gotta whittle it.

(Four days later and still in the here and now)

Sammy was exctatic. He had only been driving me crazy asking 'why, when, why, how, why, where, why, when…' for the last three days while I skinned my fingers raw for him.

But the seal is done. It's about two inches wide on the bottom of a six inch branch I stripped of bark. I even used it to stamp in some wax from one of Bobby's red candles I snitched.

There is Bobby (with his hat, Bobby would notice if I left off the hat) and Sam is on one side of him (long hair and holding Bobby's hand, the girl) and I'm on'da other side (I got a shot gun and I _aint_ touching that other hand!)

It worked real good after I sanded the bottom even so all the ridges press in at the same time. I'm actually kinda proud of it. But it has a few blood stains from my fingers on the smooth wood.

Sammy can't wait for dinner that's gonna happen any minute. He made me promise to wait with him until Bobby or Dad hollers for us. Wwwwwwhich they just did.

"Come on Sam." I say. All the way down he is tucked up behind me with his fingers hooked though my belt and his eyes hid behind his hair and the seal and slightly crumped rolled up certifacrit clutched to his thin bony chest.

Bobby and Dad give us a funny look and I feel a little embarrassed. I shouldn't have made _anything _cause now Bobby is gonna _know _I did it for Sammy and him and I'll be as good as a girl! But Sammy steps out after a minute and looks solemnly at Bobby.

"I gots a nounchment fer Bobby." He says. "Bobby, you's gonna haffa turn your chair round and look at me." He instructs since it in impossible to continue if Bobby doesn't, for some reason.

"Okay squirt. What's wrong?" Bobby asks calmly though I can tell both him and Dad are kinda panicked.

"The other night, you said you aint our Uncle so you gots to be our unaficial Uncle. So me and Dean (mostly Dean though I thought it up) made you a certifacrit of Uncleness so you can ficially be a uncle. Dean told me that to get a certifacrit you gotta pass a whole bunch'a tests and know what yer doin'. Well you kinda know what yer doin, and I think you pass the tests (you bought me lucky charms and you took Dean to look at knives. I know he loved it though he won't say)"

I kicked him for that, because that is what you're spossed to do when someone says something that girly about you (but secretly I'm glad he said it, cause it was _really _awesome!) I look at Bobby and _he has TEARS in his eyes! _Wow! Talk about girly! But it makes me happy and feel funny inside that he looks so happy.

"Here." Sammy holds out the rumpled paper and Bobby carefully opens it.

_Here-by this certifacrit saids:_

_Bobby Singer_

_Is a certifacritized Uncle for Dean and Sammy Winchester._

_Because he makes us food. He has really cool cars! He has books that Sammy likes. He lets us in even if it is midnite. He bys ice cream. He has guns. He has a TV and popcorn all the time. He watchs Sammy too. He likes the impala! He is good at fixing broken things. _

_Cos of all these things (and a tun of other cool stuff), Bobby is our uncle. _

_Dean Winchester. Sammy Winhcster. (big puddle of wax with a rough stick picture representation of them – gun and hat and all – pressed into it.)_

**(The words were wobbly and uneven. Sammy had clearly forgotten how to sign his name. The impala took up one entire corner. The wax was smudged and so were half the words. There were guns and lucky charms drawn all over the edges. Dean had gotten carried away on the good qualities and wrote off the page a few times so he had to cram it on as tight as possible at the end of every line. **

**It was the most beautiful thing Bobby had ever seen.)**

Sam taps Bobby's knee and draws his eyes away from the childish drawing he seems riveted to.

"One uther thing." He says quickly offering him the stick. "Dean made you a seal (not the fish thing from Anctartika) but a real seal so you could be a ficial uncle and this is yer uncledom!" laughing at the chiseled stick drawing, Bobby glances my way, so I look down at the floor and unnoticeable hide my heavily bandaided fingers in my pockets.

"Why's there stains?" I hear him ask Sammy. "Is it blood?" (So much for hiding them band-aids...)

"Dean kinda cut up his fingers digging the wood out of the places like the heads and stuff." Sammy explains simply.

Bobby chuckles at that – though it sounds strangely strangled – before he smacks his hand on my shoulder and Sam's. "Thank you boys." He rumbles. I can hear Dad at the other side of the table laughing. He must be reading the certifacrit I think. "I am honored to be your uncle."

"Good. Can we eat." Ahh Sammy, with his wonderful tact. Straight to the big issue here.

"Yeah. I'm starved." I agree sharply though my voice cracks right at the start and I'm afraid I'm gonna be found out as being soft.

"You bet." Bobby says in the same oddly cracked voice. Maybe Bobby is soft too! Tears, cracking voice… No, he can't be. He was way too awesome for that.

First he puts the two objects in his special desk drawer (where one night I found a picture of a pretty woman he looks at a lot) muttering sumpthin about "bloody idjits" and "good fer nothing" and "not gonna cry blast it".

Then it's time to eat and man I have never been happier to hide behind my spoon.

(and hour later but still in the here and now)

Sammy did all the talking though Bobby spent a lot of time watching me fumble with my spoon cause of my raw fingers. He didn't say anything.

When dinner is over, Sammy already left after announcing that he was gonna go play. He raced out the door with a quick, "Bye Uncle Bobby. Thanks fer dinner," and went upstairs. Dad went to research, so I offer to do dishes.

A second after I put my fingers in the soapy water, my entire body is shocked by unexpected agony and I somehow end up crumpled on the floor whimpering softly and trying to get the soaked wraps off of my fingers. It is freaking _painful_, and I can't actually see my fingers anymore because my eyes are full of tears. Suddenly bigger hands close over my own, the bandages are carefully pulled off and the trickling tears wiped away. I look right unto Bobby's eyes and smile through my pain. It is easier that way – hiding the pain with a smile – no one usually sees through it.

"Thanks Uncle Bobby." I say softly and I mean it.

He cuffs me gently on the side of the head. "Girl." He replies gruffly.

I grin back, some of the pain eased to oblivion. "Aunt." I retort.

He gives me a healthy shake and hauls me to my feet shoving a handful of unopened bandages in my face. "Wrap them yerself, idjit!"

I laugh but it turns sour as my fingers close around the Band-Aids. Of course Bobby wraps them up the second the whimper forces its way through my throat, so I simply let him.

Just as I am leaving he stops me.

"Dean. Thanks, kid. All yer hard work, I preciate it." He offers awkwardly. I know exactly what he is saying.

"Forget about it, Uncle Bobby. Wasn't nothing." And he knows what I am saying.

The fingers are totally worth it.

Family don't end with blood.

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><p>Thoughts? Comments?<p>

Reviews, reviews, they feed my muse.

Who wants a second chapter featuring older Winchesters around season 3 perhaps?

Thanks for reading

~Kiliana


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